by April Hill
I sighed. "Well, it is, isn't it–In a way? If we ever get home, I doubt very much that people from our own time will believe the story we have to tell. Why should he?"
Whatever his suspicions, though, Maximus finally gave us his permission to hide in his stable until the machine was repaired. When he began to bellow instructions, the group of burly gladiators went immediately into action. Several of them hurried off toward a nearby building and reappeared minutes later harnessed like a team of draught animals to an enormous wood cart. The heavy wooden wheels were taller than the men themselves, but they hauled the mammoth vehicle through the courtyard and across the tilled field as easily as if it were a simple baby carriage. I watched from beneath the shade of an olive tree as they pulled the cart close beside the Time Machine. There, with Maximus shouting additional orders and with only an occasional grunt to demonstrate the monumental effort required, the men lifted our sadly disabled machine onto the great cart. Straining and sweating against their leather harness in the hot sun, the men heaved the cart and its peculiar burden back across the rutted field to a long, crude stable.
It was blessedly cool inside the low building, and the gladiators showed their exhaustion by dropping to the straw-covered floor for a few moments' well-deserved rest.
"Your… sled, or whatever it may be, will be safe enough here," Maximus said. "Though it seems a worthless thing to steal with no wheels to carry its great weight. I have many strong horses here, but it would take a team of eight or ten to pull such a thing as this. Can you make it… do what it does, again?"
"Yes, I think so," Edward said wearily. "I'll need some time, though, and a great deal of sunlight."
"Sun, is it?" Maximus asked, looking bewildered.
"Yes," Edward replied, choosing his words carefully. "It's a bit complicated to explain, but this 'sled' requires sunlight to function."
Maximus was obviously still suspicious. "And how are your animals attached to the thing? You said they ran away."
Edward looked a bit nervous now. "Well, in a way, they did… run away, I mean. This vehicle changes sunlight into energy in much the same way your horses get energy from the grain you feed them. Without adequate sunlight, the machine became very weak, just as a poorly fed animal might. Now it must be fed again."
Maximus scratched his head. "And how will you feed it, then?"
Edward looked up to give the stable's log roof an appraising look. "I truly hate to ask this, since you've been more than generous already, but if you truly wish to be rid of us, I'm afraid I'll have to ask one more favor."
Our host glanced up at the roof, then at the machine. "You'll be wanting to tear a monstrous great hole in my roof then, to let this curious horseless sled of yours feed itself?"
Edward laughed. "Yes. Exactly. Mind you, I'm not completely sure that will work, but I have reason to hope so. I'll work quickly, and try not to abuse your hospitality. Please believe that we want nothing more than to be on our way as soon as possible." He nodded in my direction. "We have been traveling for a very long time, and my wife is very eager to return home."
Maximus gave a great guffaw. "Aye, she would be. Women are pleasant creatures, but not good for much except cleaning a house–and for fucking. The rest of the time they're a pain in a man's ass. When I work, I keep my woman at my little farm, six miles from here–far enough to give me peace from her endless chatter, but near enough to fuck when I've a mind to. Next time, leave this one here to her washing and sweeping when you go about your business. You'll not miss her. I don't know how it is in your country, friend, but in Rome, the streets are full of pretty women willing to fuck a man with a few coins in his purse." He glanced at me with open amusement. "And if this woman of yours becomes a nuisance to you while you're here, give her ass a sound beating and put her to work in the kitchen with the slaves."
Edward looked over at me and cleared his throat. "In my time–where I come from, that is–decent men don't beat their wives–their women."
"Do they fuck them?"
"Yes, of course. Although that word is… Well, that word has fallen upon hard times I'm afraid. It's not generally acceptable in mixed company."
"So, in your country you can do it, but not say it?"
Edward chuckled. "Yes, odd isn't it?"
"Odd, indeed," Maximus said, shaking his head. "'T would be a poor place where a man can't beat his woman when she needs it, or get himself a good fuck three times each day."
Edward cocked an eyebrow. "Three a day? I think that's a bit more than most women of my… in my country would agree to."
Maximus seemed perplexed. "Why? Are they sickly? The right sort of woman will fuck whenever her man's ready." He winked. "Of course, if he's the right kind of man, she'll holler for even more."
My Latin being what it was, I caught very little of this manly monologue, but Maximus' dismissive tone and occasional gestures toward me made his low opinion of womankind abundantly clear. Later, as we made up our straw bed in a rear stall, Edward confided to me what was actually said. I, of course, was furious.
"Why didn't you say something?" I demanded.
"I did," Edward replied, arranging a borrowed blanket over a deep pile of clean hay. "I said thank you. We are this man's guests, Abby, and with his help, we just might get out of here. I wasn't about to insult him."
"So you allowed him to insult me?"
Edward sighed. "He didn't insult you, darling. He insulted women in general. This is neither the time nor the place for me to preach women's rights. Certainly not to a man who towers over me, outweighs me by a hundred pounds, and slaughters people for a living."
"A proper husband would have defended me," I growled. "Slave, indeed. At times, Edward, you can be a terrible traitor… and a coward."
Edward chuckled. "No, darling, but I am a scholar, and sometimes a philosopher. Do you remember that old adage that begins 'When in Rome?'"
"I just knew you'd say that," I cried, hurling a handful of straw at him. "How trite."
"Trite, perhaps, but excellent advice, nonetheless. We're going to be here for a while, and with some luck, we'll get out safely. And this man is our best–our only–hope to do that. Please be nice to him." His voice hardened. "Or to put it another way, you will be nice to him–or pay an extremely disagreeable price for your lack of civility."
As he uttered these last words, Edward took a short length of fat leather harness from a hook on the wall and began to inspect it very carefully. His gesture encouraged me to rethink what I was about to say. It had been close to 1800 years since my last spanking, but my bottom still stung, and now the area was beginning to itch, as well. I decided to leave the conversation until a later time. This argument would wait until my dear husband was in a better humor–and until he didn't have such a disagreeable weapon in his grasp.
* * * *
The following morning, Edward was up before dawn, assembling what simple tools he could find, and shortly thereafter, Maximus and three other men arrived wielding axes and saws. They crawled onto the roof at once and commenced stomping around just over our heads. Seconds later, the first wicked-looking ax blade crashed through the roof, splitting the rafter and raining debris down on our heads. The hole Edward had asked for grew quickly, and within minutes, the Time Machine sat flooded in brilliant sunlight. Maximus peered down through the hole.
"Well, friend," he asked. "Is your machine eating?"
"Yes, Maximus," Edward replied, beaming almost as brightly as the hot sun. "It's eating."
"It'll be fat as a hog, soon, then. This is the dry season. There'll be no rain for many weeks, yet. The amphitheater in Rome will be hot as blazes when next we appear there."
Edward grabbed his tools and began work–while the machine sat quietly and soaked up the hot Mediterranean sun. They were both having a grand time, but I was bored and getting much too warm, so I retired to the rear of the stable, where it was somewhat cooler. Before long, though, the entire place began to feel like a furnace, a
nd I began to sweat–a condition I positively detest. My mood went from bored to very, very irritable. I wandered back to where Edward was working and sat down on a wooden box.
"Can we go into the city tomorrow?" I asked.
"I don't think so," Edward said from inside the machine. "I'm sorry, darling, but Maximus says it could be dangerous–especially for you with your poor accent."
"I won't say anything. You can tell everyone that I'm mute or that I haven't spoken a single word since childhood."
Edward chuckled. "Ah, yes. The kind of wife a man dreams of."
"Edward," I shouted. "What a filthy thing to say. You've been around that great brute for less than twenty-four hours and you're already sounding like him."
"It was a joke, darling."
"Well, it wasn't at all funny, and I want to go into Rome. You surely don't expect us to be this close to the greatest city in history and not see it. I thought that you, of all people, would be insanely eager to walk the same streets as Julius Caesar and Mark Antony and Aristotle."
"Aristotle was Greek, darling."
"All right, then, what about Marcus Aurelius and Nero and… You know, the other crazy one–who made his horse a god?"
"Caligula."
"Yes, him. And what about the Forum, and the Coliseum, and..."
"The Coliseum won't be built for many years, yet, I'm afraid. Maximus has invited me to accompany him to the games, though–at one of the better amphitheaters in the city."
"And you're going? To that disgusting bloodbath?"
"I can't very well say no. It seems that Maximus is something of a public hero, and it's apparently quite an honor to attend the games in his company. He doesn't often fight in the ring, anymore, but the gladiators he trains here are considered the finest..."
"Finest! They're a gang of bloodthirsty savages!"
Edward got out of the machine and wiped his brow. "Well, whatever we think of what they do, they're professionals, and the crowd regards them as celebrities."
"It's revolting!"
Edward nodded. "Yes, it is. Which is why I would like to get away from here as quickly as possible, and why I don't intend to offend Maximus or his hospitality until we do. I've already made several modifications to the machine's guidance system, and tomorrow, I'll do what I can with the damaged propulsion terminals. If my calculations are correct, and after the energy storage cells have recharged for several days, we just might be able to get back to London–and in the right year. Meanwhile, I'll keep working on the machine and try to keep Maximus friendly, and you will stay at home. You might even try doing some of that cleaning and washing he recommends."
At this point, I pulled off my shoe and threw it at him.
The spanking that ensued was brief and to the point, and I can't in all honesty say that I didn't deserve every painful swat. Edward simply lifted me off my box and sat down on it himself. Then he turned me across his knee and spanked everything in sight–which was absolutely everything, I might add. Dressed as I was in the short linen toga I'd borrowed from a servant, and without drawers of any kind for protection, the aforementioned swats took a rapid toll on my already sore bottom–and on my always-limited courage. Within seconds, I was howling for forgiveness. As always, Edward ignored my pleas and simply looked for another spot to set afire.
And at precisely the most humiliating moment, with my garment over my head and my throbbing behind squirming in the most unladylike manner imaginable, our host strode into the stable–and stopped in his tracks.
Edward pulled my skirt down at once and dumped me back on my feet, but the damage had already been done, in more ways than one. I was mortified, and Maximus was laughing.
"You lied." He bellowed at Edward, when he had finished chortling. "You told me that men of your country didn't beat their women."
Edward looked annoyed. "Come now, Maximus," he said. "As disagreeable as that may well have been for poor Abigail, I would certainly not describe it as a beating."
Maximus, to his credit, sneered—just a bit. "And how would she describe it, my friend?"
"In my country," Edward said defensively, "what you just witnessed would be defined as a simple spanking."
The recently and disagreeably spanked (or beaten) Abigail, of course, was not included in this little chat, but stood there with her bottom pulsating, listening to her flaming hindquarters being discussed in intimate detail.
"Spanking, eh? It's not a word I've heard before," Maximus chuckled. "But I know well enough what my own woman's backside looks like when I've blistered it. When next she complains she can't down sit on her red ass, I'll be sure to tell her she's been 'spanked', not beaten. I doubt it will burn any the less, though."
Edward smiled. "What we have then," he said, "is merely a difference in semantics and not in practice."
Maximus cocked his head to one side. "Semantics? That's another word I've not heard. What does it mean?"
"It means that when one is in Rome, one should do as the Romans do–in all things."
Maximus threw his head back and roared with laughter. "Good advice." He undid the buckle from the wide leather belt he wore around his waist and handed the enormous strap to Edward. "Now, finish this 'spanking' business of yours, but use this, instead. The tendons in a man's wrist are easily injured. A good stout strap will get the job done quicker, and leave your wench with welts for a good week."
Edward regarded the belt with a noticeable blanch, but like the despicable rat he was, he took the thing when it was offered to him. The idea of divorce was beginning to sound better to me with every day that passed.
Maximus started to leave, but when he reached the doorway, he turned around for one last word.
"Three days from now, the games begin. If your woman can behave herself and hold her tongue, you can both come with me to Rome. There have been rumors of a slave rebellion lately, and strangers to the city are often stopped and searched, but with the two of you dressed as common servants–silent servants–you'll be allowed through the gates without trouble."
Edward's face lit up like a Christmas tree decked with glowing candles. Rome. His dream of a lifetime. I, on the other hand, was not looking forward to watching a lot of hairy men club one another to death, even in ancient Rome–especially while dressed as a common servant.
* * * *
The day of the games dawned hot and dry, but as we rode through the streets of Rome in Maximus' wagon, Edward and I were too thrilled to notice the oppressive heat. The sights and sounds of this great and already ancient city were easily the most thrilling experience of our journey to date. As we passed through the bustling marketplace, I begged to stop and look around, but Maximus shook his head.
"No," he said sternly. "The streets are closely watched on the games' days. Look your fill from the wagon, but once we arrive at the amphitheater, do not to speak to anyone. Stay with Marcella until the games end and we come for you."
I exchanged glances with Marcella, the quiet young servant girl of barely sixteen who was to be my "nanny" for the day. When she smiled at me and winked mysteriously, my spirits brightened. Maybe the day would be more exciting than I expected.
Marcella and I were permitted to remain in the bleachers with Edward as the music began and the scheduled gladiators entered the ring. When Maximus marched by with the others, he turned his head and grinned at us. Once again, I could only marvel at the sheer size of our new friend. He was the size of two normal men, his arms and thighs like tree limbs. Edward cuts a very dashing figure at the seaside in his one piece bathing costume, and I find him madly handsome, but this fellow could have lifted poor Edward in one hand like a bowling pin, me in the other, and then taken a pleasant, effortless afternoon walk through Kew Gardens. He wore nothing but a pair of sandals and a shockingly short toga that barely covered the necessary items, and as he strode by, it almost appeared that he was attempting to conceal something of an enormous size beneath his tunic. Maximus's rampant manhood was impossible to hide.
The audience roared with approval.
"Well, it appears that these ladies have come to see more than the games," Edward said, nudging my shoulder.
"Edward," I cried, blushing madly. "What a scandalous thing to say." But despite my embarrassment, it required a great degree of will power to avert my eyes from our host's "display." Having never been the sort of woman who sees bulging muscles on a man appealing, I didn't find Maximus precisely attractive, but there was no denying the impression he made, nor the curiosity I felt about his… mammoth physical endowment. Truthfully, had I been afforded a discreet opportunity to observe from behind a curtain while Maximus bathed, I am afraid I would have done so–at some length. Purely as a scientific matter, of course.
I should explain that by upbringing, I am a somewhat naive person. Despite his frequent and very public protestations of male/female equality, Uncle Herbert made it his business to see that I remained in possession of my virtue until my wedding night. I, on the other hand, regarded my virginity as a burden–an outdated vestige of female oppression that shackled me in the dark ages. I began a quest to relieve myself of this unwanted encumbrance on my freedom, and at seventeen, enlisted the aid of the boy next door. His name was James, and James was every bit as eager to accomplish my deflowering as I was to be deflowered. All was going well until Uncle Herbert got wind of my affair. His response was to deliver the last of my childhood spankings over the rail of the back porch with an enormous wooden spoon and with James in awed attendance. Fortunately, my buttocks were not bared for the occasion, but my would-be seducer got an excellent view of my drawers as I wailed and kicked. My humiliation knew no bounds, and I refused to come down for meals for three full days, but lay on my bed with a wet towel on my head, threatening to jump out my bedroom window to my death. My room was only twelve feet from the ground and directly over a row of shrubbery, so the chances of my death were minimal, as Uncle Herbert pointed out.